


Cacciatore

by Letterblade



Category: Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry
Genre: A touch of humiliation, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Mostly just a kitchen floor blowjob tho, Other, Petty arguing about dishes, Will has both arms this time w/e w/e
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 11:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12253686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letterblade/pseuds/Letterblade
Summary: Lion stretches, rolls up their sleeves, inventories the pasta, and then stops in their tracks with a frown.There is A Situation in the sink.





	Cacciatore

**Author's Note:**

> Y'know, I honestly never expected to find myself writing a kitchen floor blowjob, yet here I am. Continuing to use singular they for Lion because I have opinions that can lurk in the narrative even if they're anachronistic in dialogue.

“Will,” Lion calls over their shoulder, puttering towards the kitchen. “I’m going to start dinner, so don’t nap past six.”

The couch rumbles in acknowledgement. Lion stretches, rolls up their sleeves, inventories the pasta, and then stops in their tracks with a frown.

There is A Situation in the sink.

Lion sighs.

“Will.”

“What,” Will rumbles distantly from the other room.

“Clean it.”

“What.”

“The sink.”

“No.”

“ _Willard_.”

“That’s not even my given name, the mum voice won’t work on me.”

Lion sighs, pulls a ribbon out of their pocket, and ties back their hair, then begins the hunt for their apron. “I cook delicious things; you clean up. We have a deal.”

“After. This is before.”

“Blue denied, it was after breakfast. Clean it.”

“Blow me.”

“Fine.” Lion sticks their nose in the air and dons their apron. “ _After_ dinner. I’m hungry.”

Will finally surfaces in the doorway, rumpled and faintly surprised, the book he was reading clutched protectively to his chest. “…I was bluffing.”

“Well, I don’t bluff,” Lion says airily, ignoring the thin coil of shame and arousal in their belly. They pull off their successor’s ring and tuck it safely in their pocket so it won’t get tomato juice all over it. “And fill the pasta pot and set it to boil when you’re done. With plenty of salt.”

“Eurrffh,” Will says, studying the sink in bewilderment and finally relinquishing his book to a safe patch of countertop. “It wasn’t gooey this morning.”

“You,” Lion says, honing a chef’s knife with purpose, “are getting Gohda’s special chicken cacciatore _and_ a blowjob, I don’t see why you’re complaining.”

“Heh.” Will has no sleeves to roll up, thanks to his singularly distracting t-shirt-around-the-house habit, so he just soaps up and plunges in. “You said blowjob without blushing.”

“I—” Lion feels their cheekbones heat _now_ , and Will studying them with satisfaction out of the corner of his eye. The tomatoes, fortunately, are there to be sacrificed to their embarrassment.

“We could just hire a housekeeper, Watson,” Will says.

Lion bisects a tomato with relish. “Would she be contractually obliged to be named Mrs. Hudson? That would limit our candidate pool significantly. Especially in Japan.”

“Hey, I’m not named Sherlock.”

“Thank goodness. Imagine _that_ in my accent every morning.”

“That _would_ be worse than the sink,” Will says, in a tone of solemn contemplation. “Seriously though. Nobody live-in. No kids. Just have her in a few times a week, take a load off, tip her fabulously. It’s not like we can’t afford it.”

“Nnn,” Lion sighs. Will knows full well why they’ve been leery of the concept of servants these days. Will knows that Lion knows that Will knows; they’ve trod that ground. “ _Am_ I being unfair to you, in what I put on you?” Given that Lion also barely knows how to clean anything, and is equally leery of becoming a housewife.

“Not really,” Will admits. “Like you said, I’ve got nothing to complain about.” Lion takes a moment to watch the cords in his forearms work as he scrubs, wet and shining, and then refocuses on the tomatoes. “I’m just lazy.”

Or can’t be arsed to take care of himself because he barely knows how to live. But Lion’s kind enough not to voice that reasoning. “Well, don’t be too lazy or the sauce will be cold before the pasta’s ready.”

“ _Hai, hai._ ”

 

* * *

 

Lion makes Will clean up after dinner too—which melts him entirely, as usual, he’s still not used to Lion’s cooking, and it’s very satisfying. The whole time Will’s acting like he forgot about that little threat and counterthreat earlier, even though Lion knows perfectly well that he’s got an eidetic memory. He hadn’t taken it seriously: that would be the most obvious theory. Or he doesn’t want to put Lion on the spot.

Either way, it makes the one little huff of surprise, as Lion pushes him against the nearest wall and drops to their knees, _glorious_.

“You—”

“Like I said,” Lion says, relentlessly shoving Will’s sweatpants down his thighs. There’s only a preliminary stir of interest belowdecks, and Lion takes _just_ a moment to savor the velvety feel of Will’s soft cock in their palm and the unsteady shifting of his long legs before closing their mouth over him. They can take him effortlessly like this, and Will lets out one, long, shuddering breath.

“Fffuck,” Will breathes, and his big knobby hand, cool and puckered from doing all the dishes, brushes almost hesitantly through Lion’s hair. “Fuck, that’s…”

It’s slow, at first. Lion loses themself in the smell of him, comfortingly familiar and musky, relishes the sensation of his cock hardening in their mouth. They’re _making_ that happen, stirring up interest one inch at a time. Something hot and heady coils in their belly. Will’s not particularly loud, as always, but there’s a shuddering intensity to his breathing, and both his hands are on Lion now, wandering needily. Until one of them tugs lightly on Lion’s ponytail.

“Give me…give me a moment…you’re getting too good at this.”

“You really,” Lion huffs, voice a little rough, “choose the strangest things to complain about.” They lick their lips, swallow hard, fail to catch one drop of their own spit, and feel color heat their cheeks as it slides down their chin. Will’s looking down at them, eyes barely slits, and suddenly their breath is coming rather fast and they’re intimately aware of the hard kitchen tile under their knees. And their own cock hardening in their trousers. How did things turn around this quickly? This was—just teasing, right? They were perfectly in control a minute ago, weren't they?

“I don’t see you on your knees often, do I?” Will asks, voice barely a murmur, and it’s like something cracks in Lion’s heart, and their face burns, and they actually, straight-up, _whimper_.

“I…I…y-you started this,” they sputter.

“Did I really?” Will says, noncommittal, and tightens his grip on Lion’s ponytail, tugging their head back to study their face. Lion claws at his wiry thighs. “Is this where you want to be?” Will asks, and it takes a little too long to register.

Lion can’t find words, so they nod, even though it makes their scalp tingle.

Will drags their head back down and shoves his cock down their throat. And somewhere behind their own choked, delirious groan, Lion hears Will’s breath coming ragged, and _that_ makes it perfect. Like Will can’t handle it any more than they can. Will’s thighs trembling under Lion’s hands.

But sometimes Will, for all his laziness, can’t resist upping the ante. Which, Lion can only imagine, is why he drags them back off his cock by the hair and says, hoarsely, “Wait. This could be better. Strip.”

Only it’s Will, so it’s not a mere order, it’s a choice. Lion reels, face burning, chin wet. Licks their lips desperately, goes to scrub a hand over their chin—and Will catches it, because Will is just too damn insightful sometimes. They’re panting, fast and shallow, trousers stranglingly tight, caught by ponytail and one wrist, aftertaste of cock in their mouth, and the thought of being on the floor like this, _naked_ , with Will still in what he wears about the house, as if this is just the daily order of things, is dizzying.

It seems to take them far too long to admit to themself _just_ how much they want to hand over to Will right now. And in what way. Fortunately, Will’s patient, even with his cock hard and red against his belly where his shirt’s ridden up.

Finally Lion swallows, finds their voice, and whispers, “ _Make me_.”


End file.
